Star Trek: Defender
by Lhxtreme
Summary: As the crew of the starship Defender sets off with her sister ships on their seven year mission, romances will bloom, hopes will be dashed, and a murderer will be unleashed.
1. Chapter 1

STAR TREK: DEFENDER

Chapter One: Grey's Ship

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. Paramount does. I didn't create Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry, God rest his soul, did. I merely am grateful for the privilege of playing in their yard. Oh, and by the way, this is a story involving completely original characters so if your looking for Picard, Kirk, or any of those, you won't find them here.

There was sort of a running joke aboard the starship NSR-37271 Defender. Nobody liked Captain Elijah Grey, except those that served under him. He was unorthodox, unpredictable, and unlike any other captain in Starfleet, but he always managed to get the job done. Where most captains only served two or three ships, the Defender was his seventh command. He was a hundred and twelve years old, though most mistook him for barely sixty. He had a bawdy sense of humor, and a playful nature. He knew everyone aboard personally, had in fact served dinner to most of them, from his 1st Officer, Commander Heather Duncan, to the freckle faced Cadet in engineering that everyone insisted on calling "Pocky". He was never too busy to listen to anyone's problems, personal or professional. Rashanna Ben, the Ship's Counselor even added as a foot note in her evaluations that most of the crew were more comfortable talking with Captain Grey then herself.

In the short six months of the Defender's shakedown cruise, before they were to start their mission, Captain Grey had become like a father, friend, confidant, and source of strength to every man and woman aboard the ship. And now, just 48 hours before the Defender and her crew were about to embark on the first leg of their seven year journey, Captain Grey was dead. A shuttlecraft accident had in an instant ended the life of a man that many believed would live forever.

They were holding a simple service for him in Shuttle Bay 2. Every non-essential crewmember was attending. Every crewmember that is, save for the ship's most recent addition. Captain Benedict Lee stared absently out into the star field. He was in the Captain's Ready Room. Some part of him refused to call it his ready room however. He turned his ear slightly to the service being broadcast through the ship's intercom for the benefit of those who couldn't leave their posts. The Chief of Security was speaking, and Lee could almost detect a tear in the man's voice as he said "The universe will move on and continue to grow without Captain Elijah Grey, but it was a better place with him in it."

Someone started playing Taps on what sounded like a bugle, but Lee had enough. "Computer, discontinue live feed to this room." And the noise cut off mid-note. He sighed and stroked the back of his neck tiredly. He ordered an Irish Cream coffee from the replicater and sat down at the desk. He turned the display screen to face him.

"Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 65307.2." He started, taking a sip of his coffee to give the computer a chance to start the relevant transcription. "I have taken command of The Defender just a few hours ago, but I can't help but feel like more of an intruder then the captain of this vessel. My arrival aboard ship had the unfortunate timing of coinciding with the funeral of Captain Grey. There was barely enough time for me to give my first official order, to set course for Starbase 47 and rendezvous with the fleet, before the ceremony was to start." He leaned back in the soft chair, cradling his cup in his hands. "I can't escape the knowledge that my post here is one of convenience. Granted, I applied for a command in the Delta Frontier Force, but I was summarily turned down, ranking number forty-two of the twenty-five chosen. Captain Grey's death, Commander Duncan's inexperience, and the fact that I was the highest rated applicant within seventy two hours travel were all combined by fate to bring me to this post." Taking another sip of his coffee, he debated adding anything else, but shook his head and merely said "End Transcript."

A mere moment later the chime to his door rang softly. "Enter." He said, quickly looking down at the screen, though it now only displayed the Starfleet insignia and the words "Log Saved". The doors to the ready room swished open and the First Officer walked in. He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. She was as beautiful as the last time he had seen her. Her black hair was braided with white beads at the ends. Her skin the rich deep brown color of milk chocolate. She was wearing one of the older Starfleet uniforms, the sort with black slacks and a red top with a black cut from under the arm down to the waist. He was about to tell her how great it was to see her when he finally met her eyes. He could tell in those emerald green eyes that any pleasure in their reunion was entirely his.

The Commander was standing at attention, eyes fixed on him coolly. There was a time when those eyes sparkled any time he was around. That time had evidently passed any quiet hopes that he nurtured on the shuttle ride to the ship that he could rekindle that lost passion were evidently his alone. He sighed softly, setting his coffee down and looking at the woman one last long moment before saying, "At ease Commander. What's on your mind?"

Commander Duncan's posture changed slightly, her legs spread slightly wider apart and she clasped her hands behind her back. "Captain," she said without preamble, "I merely wanted to apologize for not formally welcoming you aboard when you arrived. My duties required me to be elsewhere."

"Namely, speaking at Captain Grey's funeral. I heard you when I first beamed aboard. You sounded very sincere, considering your first status report filed to Starfleet called him a...", he paused for a moment to make it perfectly clear he was directly quoting the woman's own words, "A childish immature old fool who shouldn't be allowed aboard a Starship much less in command of one."

Deep inside her, Heather Duncan felt as if she had been given a harsh blow. Yet she managed to keep her words calm and mellow as she asked "Permission to speak freely sir?"

"I would expect nothing less Commander." The Captain said, trying equally as hard to keep a trace of smugness from his voice.

"Captain Grey was a good man, and a fine officer. Granted he took a little adjustment, but once I got used to him, I quickly saw the methods in his madness. A fact that if you bothered to read the rest of my reports would have become quite apparent. He was the finest Captain I have ever served with, and I imagine the finest I ever will."

Only someone as close to Benedict Le as Heather Duncan had once been would have seen the barb strike home. For a long moment however he was silent. Then in an a much softer voice he asked, "Where did we go wrong Heather?"

The question was no doubt rhetorical, but the woman could not help herself but to answer. "I believe it was when I stopped by your apartment on your birthday as a surprise and found you in bed with another woman. Now with the Captain's permission I have duties that require my attention."

The Asian man's face barely moved as he almost whispered the words "Dismissed Commander." The door hissed open and closed behind the woman and he sat there for a few more moments to compose himself. Then he quietly placed his empty cup on the replicater pad to be recycled. After it vanished into the mechanisms of the replicater, he walked out onto the bridge to start his first day as Captain of the Defender. His first day as Captain of Grey's Ship.


	2. Chapter 2

STAR TREK: DEFENDER

Chapter Two: Decent into Hell

The Senior Staff all stood at their posts as the massive space station dominated the view screen. Chief engineer James Kirk let out a low whistle, but everyone else merely watched in stoic silence.

The size of a large moon, Starbase ninety-three's official name was Europa. But the collective crews of the Delta Frontier Exploration Force had given it a much more human designation. Starbase Home. For the next seven years that is exactly what it would be for the Fifteen thousand five hundred and forty nine officers, crew, civilians, men, women and children of the D.F.E.F.

The Superstation itself had twenty-five ports, one each for the twenty-five vessels in the fleet. The massive sphere boasted all the comfort of a small planet with it's shops, restaurants, and parks with simulated weather conditions. Senior officers also could take up shore homes off their ship for during leaves. It was also possibly the largest weapon ever built.

When a ship was docked, a ship's systems would be slaved to the station. Add to that one hundred standard phasor arrays, Five Hundred photon torpedoes, seven hundred and fifty quantum missiles, and ten rail guns mounted on orbiting platforms, many felt the pure firepower of the 'peaceful" station was overkill. Certainly the Romulans, the Feringi, and the Cardassians had stated as much. Even the Klingon Empire looked at the base with caution. But when one is preparing for the unknown, in fact the unknowable, it is always wise to be prepared.

"Message coming in from Starbase Home captain," the communications officer said softly. We are clear to dock at our assigned port."

Captain Le nodded slightly. "Understood. Ensign, take us in." he watched as the colossal sphere grew larger in the view screen. Like a single bee around a great Hive, the Defender slowed and came about, it's reverse thrusters guiding them in.

For a moment the hellish sounds of docking clamps latching could be heard, then Commander Duncan's soft voice said "Starbase Home acknowledges we are docked sir, I am unlinking computer controls to the Oval Office."

A few more beefs and the Defender was now as much a part of the station as it's own phasor arrays. Captain Le did the mat silently in his head. Fifteen thousand five hundred and forty-nine souls, the Defender's crew accounting for three hundred and seventy-four of them. "And I am a part of it." He allowed himself to think. He glanced slowly around the bridge, but even now it did not feel like his ship. Not his ship, and not his bridge. He was a trespasser, and everywhere he looked Elijah Grey's ghost could be felt

It was perhaps in the small details. The Gravity on the Defender was set to 0.9 standard, where Le always kept it set to at Standard Earth. Junior officers addressed their superiors by first name, a small breach of protocol perhaps but not one Le otherwise would have stood for. Perhaps worse, everyone addressed him by rank making him feel all the more like an outsider. Somehow Heather managed to drive the barb even deeper with her own formality that seemed to be reserved only for him. The uniforms were all together another issue. Although technically still official, the crew of the Defender wore uniforms that were at least fifteen years out of date. Where Le's own uniform was flat gray with a crimson collar, everywhere he looked he saw black slacks with colored tunics. His eyes finally fell on his Chief of Security. His Uniform seemed the most impossible of them all. In fact nothing about Lieutenant Commander Salar Tenko really conformed to Le's standards.

The man's uniform, similar in design to that of the rest of the crew, was hunter green in color. Le knew that the green uniforms denoted members of the new fighter pilot wings. He's even seen the uniforms before, though only the collared variety identical to his own. Salar stood half a head taller then Le, and almost a full head taller then Commander Duncan who he was currently talking to.

His hair was dark as pitch, long, and thin. He kept it gathered in a loose ponytail that hung between his shoulder blades. His skin was the deep almost coppery tone of someone who lived a great deal of time outside. His ears were pointed to fine tips, and his eyebrows slanted slightly. A Vulcan. And for the briefest of seconds, Captain Le almost approved of one of Captain Grey's decisions. Vulcan's after all made superb security officers. And then he heard a sound that dashed the previous thought away in an instant.

Heather and Salar had been talking quietly over a console when the Vulcan began to chuckle softly. There was an easy smile gracing the man's lips. His eyes twinkled with suppressed humor. Captain Le glanced around the bridge to see if there was any sort of reaction from the rest of the crew. There was none, and that shocked him even more. There was a laughing Vulcan on the bridge and no one seemed to notice. Staring just a moment longer then was truly decent, Le started to turn away when the Security Officer spoke to him. "Message coming in from the Rogue, sir. Their primary fighter wing inquires if we would be interested in a brief sparring flight." The words came out smoothly and without hesitation, but Commander Duncan who could read the communiqué almost choked on a chuckle.

Le's eyes narrowed slightly, obviously not getting the joke. "Was that the exact message Commander?" he asked, assuming that there was more then meets the eye.

"No sir," Salar replied without hesitation. His own eyes twinkling slightly.

"And what was the entire message may I ask?"

Clearing his throat, Salar glanced at the screen and said "To: Lieutenant Commander Salar Tenko; USS Defender. From: Lieutenant Commander Harmon Barr; USS Rogue. Subject: Training Simulation. Body text: Ask your mommy if you can come out and play. End Transmission. Sir."

The 'Sir.' Was definitely an after thought Le felt, but his blush did not allow him to comment further. After swallowing a few times he turned to his first officer and asked, "Opinions Commander?"

Heather Duncan straightened and managed to appear completely stoic as she regarded him. It was enough to make her former fiancée almost flinch. "There is plenty of time sir, and Starfleet Command did suggest that we give the new fighters plenty of time to stretch their wings as it were."

Captain Le could only nod. She could have been lying to his face, after all he'd hardly had a chance to review the volumes of memorandums from Starfleet command over the last six months in the forty eight hours he had been the Defender's captain. "Agreed. Lieutenant Tenko, see to it."

The Vulcan smiled even brighter and nodded, tapping his com-badge he said, "This is Commander Tenko, Gypsy Wing report to the Fighter bay."

He himself was already in the turbolift when a red headed Ensign called out, "Hey Borg!", Salar turned and faced her. She blew him a kiss and then said "For luck. Now go put one across that worthless husband of mine's nose for me." The bridge was still laughing as he stepped into the lift and said "Computer, take me to Hell."


	3. Chapter 3

STAR TREK: DEFENDER

Chapter Three – Fox and Hounds

Lieutenant Commander Salar "Borg" Tenko wasn't certain why the fighter bays were called "Hell", they just were. Likewise he wasn't sure why the second the turbolift doors opened he broke into a dead run. But up ahead and behind he could see other green uniformed men and women moving just as fast.

There were ten of them in Gypsy wing, five pilots and five Radio Equipment Operators or REOs. As they quickly assembled Salar doubted he could he could have kept the stab of pride at bay even if he had followed traditional Vulcan teachings. They were men and women from all across the Federation and more poignantly, at least to Salar, all across the Defender as well. They were Science officers, Medical Personal, Engineers, and Security but first and foremost, as evidenced by their hunter green uniforms, they were fighter jocks.

Taking a small wooding box from the Auroran, Dorn Michaels, he spoke to his pilots and REOs. "The Rogue has challenged us to a little contest." He said casually but he could feel the hungry anticipation radiating off of each of his men. "And Captain Le has seen fit to accept. Now the last time we faced the Rogue we made mistakes. We were not a team then. Everyone here, myself included, would be dead if that had been a real battle." Glancing around he could see around he could see that the humiliating defeat six months before was still fresh in their minds. It had been Gypsy wing's first live simulation and to date their only loss. "I do not expect to have to send funeral notices to your families today. They wounded our pride. Lets go show them why it's not wise to wound what you can not kill."

A slight cheer went up as he opened the wooden box with the Starfleet insignia engraved on the lid. Carefully he set it on a waiting table and then removed the pips from his collar. The other Gypsies followed suit a moment later. In a Manta there is no room for rank. Instinctively they broke off into pairs, each heading to their own fighters. Behind them, engineers transported cylinders that amounted to miniature warp cores into place.

Salar eased himself into his seat and carefully ran his fingers over the controls. There had been several competing designs for the Federation's new fleet of fighter craft, but the eventual winner was the submission of someone who knew the Delta Quadrant quite intimately, the holo-novelist Tom Paris. Similar in many ways to his Delta Flyer, the Manta's were smooth and sleek on the outside and inside the combination of dials, levers, gauges and the flight stick were almost universally accepted better by the pilots of the small craft.

"You know Borg," came the humor filled voice of Nova his REO, "If you ever showed a woman as much reverence as you do this bucket, you'd be a father by now." Nova had just had a little girl and was preaching the idea of parenthood to anyone who would listen.

"Who needs kids? You pawn yours off on everyone enough as it is." He offered with a chuckle and then checked that the engineers had cleared the flight deck. Taking a deep breath he slid on the visor like headset that patched him into the rest of his crew.

The effect could be rather disorienting to the uninitiated. Through the Optical Relay Communications Apparatus or ORCA he could still see his control panels, but superimposed over it was the image of the launch chute and space beyond. Across the top of his vision the four images of the other pilots engaging in last minute communication and banter with their REOs. After a seconds more pause he cleared his throat.

"This is Borg, pilots go through your preflight checklists." He himself started checking and double checking his gauges, making certain they were all operating at a minimal hundred percent efficiency. He'd just checked the last gauge when the pilots started calling back.

"Firefly green."

"Sehlat green."

"Tail kinker is green."

"Wildcard green."

Salar smiled slightly, his stomach fluttering with anticipation. "Borg is green. Gypsy wing confirmed all green. Ready for warp core coupling." The small warp cores of the Mantas are disengaged from the rest of the ship after every flight and attached to the Defender's primary Warp core. While this has no severe effect one way or another on the efficiency of the miniature warp assemblies, it is generally assumed to be safer if the potentially unstable warp reactors are all together as opposed to having a dozen of them in separate locations.

"Activate interlock." Salar continued after a moment, depressing the button that would slide the small core into place. "Dyno-therms connected." He replied as the Dynamic thermo-couplings, what kept the unbearable temperature of the core dissipated in the small capsules, came online. "Navigational Thrusters are up, Warp engines are go. Last chance to chicken out folks, give me a Go/No-Go for Launch. Firefly?"

"Go."

"Sehlat?"

"Go."

"Wildcard?"

"Go."

"Tail Kinker?"

"Let's do this."

"Gypsy wing, Launch!"

The inertia inside a Manta, or any Starfleet craft for that matter, is supposed to be negligible. After all the speed of it's thrusters would literally put the pilot and REO out the back of the craft if state of the art inertial dampeners were not in play. Be that as it may, Salar had yet to meet anyone who was not planted in the back of their seat by a Manta launch. Clutching his flight stick as hard as he could, the small craft was forced like a shot through a straw out the other end of the launch tube and into the black darkness of space. A second after that, the four other Mantas fell into a diamond slot formation behind him.

They leveled off as a similar formation of fighters came up in front of them. A new voice came across his ORCA and Lieutenant Barr's face joined those of his pilots. "Gypsy One, this is Dreadnaught One. Are you ready to play?"

Salar smiled at the handsome face of his opponent. "Ready and waiting Dreadnaught One. At the end of this transmission Gypsy will go to frequency 8574.2 and break off. Fox and Hounds good for you?"

"Fox and Hounds? It's your funeral Gypsy One. Dreadnaughts will take the role of Hounds. Confirmed you will be on frequency 8574.2. Good Hunting."

"Good hunting. Oh, and Hammer?" he asked using the Flight Leader of the Dreadnaught Wing's call sign to indicate a more personal message. Then he squeezed the trigger of the flight stick and a pair of green energy ion lances sliced through the vacuum and struck harmlessly off Dreadnaught One's bow. "that's from your wife." Laughter filled the channel as Salar changed frequencies. The game was on.

Live training simulations in a Manta are fairly simple. The lances of the Mantas are restricted for safety, using harmless ionized light instead of the much more lethal ionized plasma from the warp cores. The ships computers register the hits and then simulate damage as appropriate to the hits. In a fox and hounds simulation, the range of the 'fox's' lance is scaled back to twenty five percent, but the beam intensity registers at One hundred and twenty five percent. Conversely, the 'Hounds' have a full beam range, but a hit from their lance will only do Seventy-Five percent damage. Still even with the weaker hit, the odds are stacked heavily in the Hounds favor .

As the Rogue issued the challenge, the Defender could have picked any simulation for the war-game, and Salar knew them all. The Gypsy Wing were exceptionally good at freeze tag, where as the Dreadnaught's reputation in Chessmen was far from exceptional. But the Dreadnaught's had given the Gypsies their single defeat in Fox and hounds. It was time to repay the favor.


	4. Chapter 4

STAR TREK: DEFENDER

Chapter 4 –Doing One's Duty

Back aboard the Defender, word had quickly spread that a dogfight was about to start. Display screens followed the action and off duty crewmen flocked to the cantina to enjoy a panoramic view of the mock battle. On the bridge the atmosphere reminded Captain Le more of a sporting event then of a crew of senior staff. Everyone seemed to be holding bated breath as the two sides broke off and came out firing. Personally Le could only tell which side was which because the Fighters from the Defender were using bright Green ion lances and the Lances from the Rogue's ship were blue.

Every move and dance of the ships seemed punctuated by the gasps and cheers of the crew. Ensign Sara "Mac" Barr seemed torn between crew loyalty and cheering for her husband.

The Mantas glided soundlessly through the vacuum of space, dancing close and flitting back to safe distances. The ships themselves were slightly longer then a standard shuttle craft, but less then half as tall. They had almost no straight lines and no flat surfaces. They were in face shaped amazingly similar to the creature that shared their name. The major difference being that the ship had two curved "horns" that extended foreword from the port and starboard "wings". These horns fired the ion lances and gave the tiny fighters approximately a two hundred and seventy degree cone of fire.

The Organic shape made getting a phasor lock on one an exercise in futility, and their unprecedented maneuverability allowed the Mantas to dance around quantum missiles and photon torpedoes. It was often joked only a Manta could hit another Manta, and even that was luck. It wasn't true of course, but no one really wanted to think about the Kich'Kari with their Dragons and Arachnoids fighters. There would be a time to worry about them later. For now the two best fighter wings in the fleet were engaging in one last spar. Even aboard Starbase Home, all eyes seemed to watch the contest. Bets were placed in various bars. Sides were chosen.

It was nearly two minutes into the skirmish when Sehlat drew first blood for Gypsy wing, managing to get right up on a Dreadnaught's tail and lance across his warp core. He barely managed to get clear of the computer's simulated explosion. Tail Kinker wasn't quite as lucky, her kill steering towards her and taking out her Manta as well. Firefly managed to take out two of the opposing Mantas before she was taken out. Wildcard was caught in the crossfire of Hammer and Sehlat, and according to his computer it was his teammate that fired the killing shot before Hammer launched the volley that ended the Vulcan fighter pilot.

And all that was left were the two flight commanders. They held their positions for a long moment. Then Borg gently tipped his wing in a slight bow. Barr returned the gesture. A duel of fighter Jocks. One Fox. One hound. Good Hunting. Salar took a deep inhale and muttered softly "Crash and burn, Hammer." And flew into the fray.

Reboarding the Defender, the Gypsies were cheered like conquering heroes of some great war rather then the victors of a relatively minor training skirmish. Even Wildcard, who was disappointed he had not made a kill, got caught up in the excitement. They had overcome the Dreadnaughts. Honor had been restored. All of the Gypsies except Commander Tenko headed to the Cantina to celebrate. But Tenko, his pips back on his collar, headed back to his station. He was chief of security. His place was on the bridge.

The reception awaiting him on the bridge was short lived. A small bit of applause was cut short by Captain Le's icy stare. "I do hope that the crew is not going to start cheering Mr. Kirk every time he performs a warp diagnostic. O Ensign Barr every time she plots in a new course." A moments pause before adding "Or any other member of this crew for doing nothing more then the successful completion of their duty." His voice dripped with sarcastic venom. Surprised and insulted expressions greeted his statement. The passionate Vulcan even looked angry.

Salar would later pont to this moment that the animosity between himself and Captain Le began. Though it would be several months before he learned the root cause of it. After al he hadn't been on the bridge of the ship when Mac cheered her husband's defeat. He hadn't heard Lieutenant Kirk's sigh of relief when the battle was over. And most of all, he hadn't seen Commander Heather Duncan biting her lip and watching on infatuated excitement as he preformed a small barrel roll in victory.

No he had no idea of all the little things that sowed the seeds of bitterness in Captain Benedict Le. He had been in Gypsy One, successfully completing his duty.


	5. Chapter 5

STAR TREK: DEFENDER

Chapter 5 – Home Again, for the first time

Aboard Starbase Home the air was alive with anticipation. The last Star cruiser, the aptly named USS Truant, had arrived and docked. All hands were accounted for. The senior staff of the Twenty-five ships had dressed in dress uniforms for the formal ceremony hosted by Admiral Destok, Senior officer of Starbase Home and the fleet.

The Vulcan gave a rather dull and monotone speech and many in the crowd wondered how even a Vulcan could make such an exciting occasion seem so boring. One of them was half Vulcan himself. Utterly bored, Salar cast his eyes around the crowd. Ensign Barr was not on the guest list herself, but her husband was Chief of Security aboard the Rogue and she was duty bound to suffer at his side. He focused on her. Her short rust colored hair. Her soft chocolate brown eyes. He envisioned the generous swells of her breasts as they glistened with sweat on a night neither one of them could bring themselves to regret, despite their shared betrayal. Slowly the white noise of a hundred minds receded to the background and he was able to focus on her mind alone.

_~All dressed up and no where to go.~_ he smirked with silent satisfaction as he saw the ensign jump in slight surprise to his mental words.

~_Jesus Borg, I've told you not to do that!~ _Though her words were sharp her mental voice carried a tone of suppressed laughter.

Salar turned to face the Admiral again. _~Sorry Mac,~_ he replied not sounding at all sorry. _~Just looking for any distraction at this point.~ _

Mac's gaze wandered over to the droneing Vulcan as well _~Yeah. I knowwhat you mean. Wel after this is over me and Harm are going over to Stephanie's in Little Mars to watch the Wormole. Care to join us?~_

He considered for a moment then shok his head slightly._ ~No thanks, three is a crowd. You have fun though.~_

_~So invite Angela, We'll make it a double date.~_ Sara offered casually.

_~No thanks,~ _came the immediate response, _~After you, I swore off of married women.~_

He hadn't meant for the remark to be hurtful. After all Salar bore as much of the responsibility for that night as anyone. Still Sara flinched slightly. _~Okay, how about Sloan Donavan? She is single right.~_

Salar smiled a bit more. _~Well after you I swore off fighter pilots too. Not to mention I'm kind of worried about why they call her Tailkinker.~_ To stress his point he floated a rediculasly out of proportion characterture of himself into Mac's mind with part of his anatomy bent into a knot.

Mac had to suppress a chuckle and then wave off the curious look from he husband._ ~I wasn't –THAT- drunk Borg, stop flattering yourself. Okay, Lieutenant Davis?~_

_~Married.~_

_~Leiutenant Kail?~_

_~Lesbian.~_

_~Commander Benn?~_

_~Married and a lesbian.~_

Mac gave a mental scoff. _~Do you plan to be single for the next seven years Borg?~_

A small mental chuckle and Salar replied. _~What, you don't like being the only one I link to?~_

Sara felt a sad little smile tug at her lips. Salar was telepathic, but he needed some physical contact to isolate an individual mind. For a brief conversation, a simple kiss or even a firm handshae will do. But it takes several hours of prolonged skin-to-skin contact, like she shared with him that wonderfully foolish night in the jungles of Carraya IV, to burn a persons mental presence into his mind. And even at that, only three months later she could sence it becoming harder and harder for him to contact her. She wondered, briefly how she felt about that.

She had come to rely on his mental presence from time-to-time. The encoraging feelings when she was feeling stressed, and the occasional silent conversation like this one. But she couldn't help but be reminded each time of the price she paid for the privlage.

No, she decided The power was nice but it wouldn't have been worth the damage it would have done to her marrage if Harm had ever found out. Better tolet her mind fade into the white noise of the masses. Better, but the thought made her feel a little sad.

_~Earth to Mac? You still there?~ _Salar asked a little concerned.

_~We aren't on Earth, Borg, not by a long shot.~ _She banished her melancholy thoughts to the back of her mind. _~It looks like the wind bag in winding down. Tell you what, forget the double date. But still meet us at Stephanie's to see the worm hole. There won't be another show like it for the next seven years.~_

Polite applause and a few sighs of relief as the Admiral stepped down. _~I'll think about it. No promises okay?~_

Sara nodded slightly, _~Okay, and Borg? Cheer up. This is supposed to be an adventure!~_

Salar didn't offer a response, he simply watched as Harmon Barr guided his wife through the crowd, completely oblivious to the conversation she had been having with the man he has asked to fly honor guard at his wedding.


End file.
